You always thought that dating an idol would be the greatest thing in the world. That the feeling of dating your favorite singer/dancer and having what no one else could would be absolute perfection. And in some ways, it was. But in others, it was far worse than dating a normal person.

To begin with, she was almost never around. Not that you didn’t expect that, what with her busy schedule and all, but you didn’t expect to be constantly wondering if she was alright, or if the company was overworking her, or if she had gotten on the wrong flight and ended up in some foreign country, or if she was sleeping poorly, or if she’d made sure to take her multivitamins in the morning. You didn’t expect to feel a rush of happiness every time the little bear emoji popped up on your phone. You didn’t expect to have to wait days, sometimes weeks, to talk to her on Facetime or Skype. There were periods of time where it didn’t even feel like you were dating anyone, because she was so busy that she couldn’t even respond to your texts other than a short “Goodmorning” and “Goodnight”.  There were times when you wondered if it was even worth it anymore, all this heartache and loneliness and anxiety.

But then there were the times that you did see her. The times when she’d call you, practically screaming with joy, declaring that she was free on a certain day or, if you were lucky, days. Sometimes she would let you know months in advance, and other times it would be the day of. Either way, you cleared your schedule for her, calling out of work and skipping classes because these opportunities were so scarce that you had to seize every one.

And then she’d show up at your apartment door, always dressed in the best clothing she had, always wearing a bright smile that sent tendrils of warmth coursing through your veins. She would sprint to you and wrap her arms around your waist, those chocolate eyes boring into your soul with a fiery passion that threatened to consume your entire existence. You would pull her in for a kiss, and you’d make it last as long as you could, absorbing every minute bit of the intimate moment. Her lips always tasted like that cherry lipstick that she knew you loved. They were always just as wanting as yours were, and sometimes you would spend more than fifteen minutes just standing there, holding each other as tightly as possible, because neither of you were willing to let go. Whenever you kissed her, it was like eating a three-course meal after having starved for years.

And then you would take her by the hand, and guide her to the kitchen, where you’d sit down and have coffee and maybe a snack whil